In Fire, In Ice
by escapebutterfly
Summary: He's alive. Another survivor, caught up in a post-apocalyptic world that resembles a hell-hole, overrun with the dead. He's experienced so much at the hands of fear, betrayal and even pure luck. But he's alive. That's got to stand for something, right? (Occasional swearing).


This is my first TWD fic. And it's going to be a good one (hopefully).

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**01.**

The first thing that comes to mind is _fire. _

He is so close to red, orange and gold that it's practically burning him. An image of his legs and arms covered in cherry bubbles, oozing with pus, makes him shiver violently.

It was a small cabin that reminds him of his own – or what is now left of it. Bits of wood are being flung violently across the terrace. A plastic chair and small table erupt into flames.

The only thing he can think of doing is staring. He just can't help it. This place has been like a second home to him.

Ever since those..._things _started appearing, he's been living between its damp walls. Now he can only imagine the destruction that it's no doubt being exposed to on the inside.

And it hurts him. _God_, _it hurts._

A familiar pain shoots up his armpit and he can feel a damp patch of sweat spreading around his shirt. His eyeballs dart across the cabin and he swallows, legs trembling as he begins the descent down the crumbling steps.

_One_.

His hands reach for the safety of the straps of his backpack with only one thought in mind – he has to leave. _Now_.

The very moment he saw the fire, right after he had returned from hunting a small rabbit, he should have ran. He should have left for miles, found a decent place to camp for the night or scavenged for more supplies.

He shouldn't have walked closer – he _knows_ that now. His brain just went blank and his rational side seemed to have taken a hiatus. But he was angry. _Fucking angry_. How the hell could this have happened? Who on _Earth_ would burn down his place – _his_ place?

He falls.

_Two._

He loses his footing on the wood and his body is forced down awkwardly. He hears something snap beneath him and prays it's not a bone. _Not_ _his_ _bone_.

A grunt escapes his lips and he scrambles to his feet, only for his bag of supplies to pull him back down again. He grits his teeth. Pulls.

It's wedged tight in between planks of wood. They had been torn apart in his fall and now he has to pay the price – either waste valuable time pulling the bag out of the ground or make a run for it. The decisions are clear cut; ones he should be used to making after a good few months have passed since he left home.

The crackling fire startles him from his dilemma and he's once again transfixed at the sight.

He holds his gaze, as if in a showdown with the flames that are threatening his mere existence. Pulls. _Nothing_.

He won't give up, though. He _can't_. He's too damn stubborn and it's taken him months to put together a portable survival kit. It's something he's proud of, just like the fact he's made it this far. Only now it's being taken away from him.

First the cabin.

Then his supplies.

And now his life.

_This is it, then. This is how it's going to end. _

He knows he's exaggerating. He knows that if he pushes the rucksack belts a few inches away from his body; pulls himself to his feet, walks away – that he could survive. He could practically _crawl_ away from the wreck, right now, and live with hardly any burns. He damn well knows it.

Only he's tired. He's just _so_ tired. Not just physically – although his diet of canned food and the occasional wild animal would say otherwise – but mentally, as well. He's experienced enough to come to the conclusion that _this is pathetic_.

Hiding himself, bracing for impact, keeping armed at all times – he wants it to stop.

He wants everything to fucking stop.

So he closes his eyes and repeats the same mantra in his head: _End it here, end it now._

"You fucking crazy, kid?!"

His body jerks forward. He is shocked for several reasons.

He isn't dead yet. That was a person's voice.

His arm is on fire.

He blacks out.

_Strike three._


End file.
